then felled by wishes
by Mira-Jade
Summary: When the right words are spoken, the Labyrinth must be solved in order to return the first son of Odin to his place. Or: the one where Loki screws up, Sif kicks some Firey butt, and Jareth finds a way to deal with that pesky Minotaur problem without leaving glitter on the carpet. Loki, Sif, Thor; Sarah/Jareth, ON HOLD
1. before the clock strikes thirteen

"**then felled by wishes"**

**Genre**: Drama, Action/Adventure  
**Rating**: T  
**Time Frame**: Pre-Thor, Post-Labyrinth  
**Characters**: Loki, Sif, Thor; Sarah/Jareth

**Summary**: When the right words are spoken, the Labyrinth must be solved in order to return the first son of Odin to his place. Or: the one where Loki screws up, Sif kicks some Firey butt, and Jareth finds a way to deal with that pesky Minotaur problem without leaving glitter on the carpet.

**Notes**: Because this was the crossover a long time coming. Further more, this is for Erica - thank-you, kiddo, for putting up with my rants, shipping obsessions and my rather unhealthy fascination with magical villains. I hope that I have not corrupted you too much over the years. Thank-you for inspiring my imagination with your own.

That said, this is just a short story - which should be done in five or six parts, and then I will get my lazy butt to work on the next chapter of my Steel!verse for all of you patient readers. My Steel!verse, and one other surprise for Sif and Loki that I think that you will love . . .

But for now, to those about to read, I salute you! ;)

**Disclaimer**: Nothing is mine, but for the words.

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**"then felled by wishes"**  
by Mira_Jade

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**Part** **I: "before the second hand strikes thirteen"**

In the end, it took a pretty piece of seiðr to even get them into the restricted section of the Library. But Loki was nothing if not resilient, and the wards of Odin recognized its own blood, its own hand, and it bent when pushed against, allowing the three adolescents into the dark part of the Vault.

There was a cove in the back part of the library, right before the barrier of the Vault, and in that cove was the table that Loki had claimed as his over the the passing of the years. The dark shadows were kept at bay by warm torches and the gleam of the barrier – dancing golden and green and throwing patterns that held a fire of their own, turning the spines of the books into something living, the skin of those who bothered to come back so far something molten, constantly in motion. There it was they took their spoils – books of spells and long dead heroes and far off lands, those tomes that looked no different than any other volume in Asgard's library, but which held words of power aplenty, and not meant to be read by just any eyes . . .

In their self appointed spot, Loki found the pulse of seiðr from the barrier of the Vault soothing – he always had, and so it was here that he poured over his tomes and grimoires, learning the secrets of the universe as she whispered into his ear of her might. Normally, his brother was far to be found from such a place – finding the tedium of words and their might to be on par with the most intricate of tortures. Master Eldgrim could hardly keep Thor focused on his required studies, let alone anything extra, and Thor looked at the stack of books he had helped his brother procure as if they were something armed and living – and ready to strike at any moment.

Sif was more at home than Thor in the depths, this not being the first time she had accompanied the second son into the Vault beyond. The chair she sat in had a tall back, giving her shadow wings. She had her boots propped up on the table, and she was sharpening a small blade in her hands with a whetstone. In the wood of the table before her, there were grooves aplenty where her blade had found purchase many a time over the years before. Her hazel eyes had caught the light of the spells from the barrier beyond them, making them molten. Her hair, newly raven black, had just grown to brush the haughty line of her jaw, and Loki was most certainly _not looking _at that, not when he had his books before him.

. . . yes, his books.

The runes in the volume he had open before him were handwritten, and he brushed a finger over the dried ink as he read, feeling the hum of the magic in the words, feeling it warm at his touch like an invitation. The words were ancient, but still wise, and -

"Are we not done yet?" Thor's bored voice cut into his thoughts, as bludgeoning as a staff against flesh. "We have already passed three candlemarks this way, and I find myself growing weary."

Loki did not even bother rolling his eyes, instead he looked up at his brother through too dark lashes, his mouth a hooked line on his face. "You did not have to accompany me," he said smoothly. "I was quite happy passing the hours by myself. In silence." The last two words were pointed.

Thor made a face. "The storms outside do not allow us to practice at arms today, and so I had hoped to find sport indoors."

"And so you have it," Loki replied absently, passing a stack of tomes to his brother.

Thor's look of distaste was easy for him to imagine without looking up from his words. The last season had seen a spurt of growth for the prince – and now Thor hovered over the table like a young mountain, still the barest bit gangly and awkward as his body grew past what he could keep up with. Loki only seemed to grow taller where his brother grew broader – like a willow as opposed to an oak, his mind supplied, though he knew that others had other ways to put their differences . . . the golden one and the one not bright, but shaded.

Sif, ever a shadow to the princes since their youngest years, snorted at his words, but she did not look up from where she was inspecting the tip of her blade. The runes etched into the steel were bright – the weapon having been a gift from Brünnhilde when the girl had turned down service with the Valkyrie in order to make her own name in Odin's ranks, on her own might.

"Come now," Thor reached over to place a heavy hand on his second's shoulder, the affection in the motion stinging. "Enough of these runes. Brokkr and Sindri dine in our father's hall tonight. If we pester them, I am sure that they will make gifts of their ware! Come now, imagine – a new set of throwing blades for you. A sword for me. A new head for her glaive for Sif here."

Loki made a face at the mentioning of the dwarfs before shrugging out from his brother's touch. "Will they be so generous when it is all too apparent how you make use of such gifts? It has not stopped raining in three day's time," Loki's mouth turned sharp as he finally looked up. "Indeed, but Mjölnir is a mighty gift in the hands of her prince. I wonder, what did Brokkr have to say about that?"

On cue, Thor's cheeks flushed. "It does require some practice," he finally gave. "I have not been able to summon the storms as easily as that first time, but the mages assure me that it shall settle with time - and practice."

"Much time," Loki agreed with a snicker, not unkindly, and Thor rolled his eyes with bruised pride.

Beyond them, Sif put down her blade, and raised a withering brow. "Such seiðr requires time to control," she retorted, "As you well know, second son. After all, how many a fortnight did it take for you to master your shapeshifting charms? How hazy your memory is."

The memory was a slap. Loki made a face as he remembered the many days he had been forced to stay in the body of a horse, unable to get the strands of magic he had cocooned himself in to just cooperate and _let him be_. "As always," Loki recovered smoothly, "the lady's wit is as sharp as her blade."

When she smiled, it was exasperated, but fond. "A graceful retreat, Silvertongue. A graceful retreat."

Loki inclined his head, forming a bow. Sif stuck her blade in the wood of the table, satisfied with its edge.

And Thor shook his own head. "Be that as it may, even the most perfect of weather would have you indoors, my brother. Indoors, and . . . reading," he said the word as if it were a curse, and in that moment, his suntanned skin and halo of hair were never more at odds with his second – pale and dark by turns.

Loki shrugged. "I merely prefer to work at developing the weapons I am given."

"Aye," Thor acknowledged. "I do not envy the foe who stands opposite your mind. But . . ." He picked up a small red tome and flipped through it absently, the soft leather giving under the thoughtless strength in his hands. "What are you reading about, anyway. Far off lands?"

"Travel," Loki replied absently. "Ways between ways."

Thor's brow crinkled. "Is that not what we have good Heimdall for?"

Loki snorted, but kept his thoughts to himself as underneath his touch, the runes started to glow, whispering their tale of mother Yggdrasil's branches . . . the secret ins and outs of the universe that even Heimdall and his all seeing gaze was blind to. In time . . .

Thor's mind, in that way, was simple. There was already a path, and so he saw no need to find another to walk beyond it. Sif, at her side of the table was more aware, her eyes narrowing as they often did before he attempted a misdeed, and so he schooled his face – lowered his eyes, all innocence and scholarly intention.

She snorted, far from appeased, and he bowed his head – a worthy opponent.

In his hand, Thor was looking down at the small red book. While he flipped through the pages, his large fingers found the knotted patterns that bordered the cover. The image of a maze was worked into the leather, the patterns the color of flame in the half light. "What is this tale?" he finally asked.

Loki peered over, and found that it was one he had yet to read. "I am not sure," he shrugged. "Its length suits you, though, brother," he still found to jibe, Thor and the tiny book suitable for one another. "Even you could have it read before the evening comes."

Thor narrowed his eyes, but refused to rise to the barb. Instead he found a page, and settled, his blonde brows furrowing as he started to read aloud, "_For the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the girl, and he had given her special powers . . ._" he snorted, flipping the book over in his hands to look at the cover again. "Never mind, brother. This is a maiden's fae tale - made more for the Lady Sif's sensibilities than our own."

Sif raised a brow, pausing from where she had gone on to her next weapon – a dagger as long as his forearm, left to her from her father Týr. "Wait for the rains to clear, Odinson, and then I shall show to you my sensibilities in the practice rings. You will regret those words."

Thor snorted, but he was on a role with his reading. "_For the girl was weary from the harsh demands of her step mother and hurt by the cruel words of her father, and finally she could take no more of the screaming infant in her arms. 'Goblin King, Goblin King' she cried, 'please take this wretched child away from me!'_" He paused, tapping the page with a single thick finger, considering the words he had read.

And Sif snorted. "I am surprised that Loki hasn't used that incantation years ago. I can think of a dozen occurrences off of the top of my head where he would have been moved to do so."

"I am the soul of long-suffering," Loki replied, looking on in amusement as Thor stared at the page, intrigued.

"Something like that," Sif drawled, not buying it a bit.

Thor laughed at their words, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest. "What would the goblins want with me, at any rate? I would be a poor addition to their ranks."

"You are ill suited to mischief and trickery, I agree," Loki gave.

Sif snickered. "How he would bemoan the locks of his golden hair, had he been enchanted to Goblin kind . . ."

"I don't know," Loki said seriously. "Grey and scaled may flatter his complexion – it would lend a certain light to his eyes."

Thor shook his head. "I do not agree, brother. Would you yourself not wear scales better than us all? You and your dark locks already?"

Loki considered it, mock concentration on his face. At long last, he finally gave, "Already I bear the horns. It looks like my fate is doomed."

"Aye," Thor thumped him on the back in his humor, "you are so cursed." He looked back down at the book, but Loki stilled him from further reading with a hand on his elbow.

"But I would be careful, nonetheless," he cautioned. "Such words hold power. The book would not be in the Vault, otherwise."

Thor snorted. "Of course they do," he gave without belief. "Goblin King, Goblin King," he entreated in a sing song voice, "I wish you would take this wretched brother of mine away from me."

Nothing happened. The library was all stillness and silence. And Loki exhaled, feeling an odd tingling on his skin. A flare of magic against his pulse. "I believe you have to mean it," he said after a moment. "And you need not give in to such dramatics – the seiðr will answer to you not."

Thor shrugged. "It is a tall tale, empty on delivery," he said, putting the book down. He fisted his hands, as if holding the book had burned him. "It's words are dead."

Loki looked down, and pondered. "I do not know," he said slowly. "I can feel the book – there is magic there. It winds and slithers, as if to snare."

Thor snorted. "Such a kindredness it bares to you."

"Such," Loki echoed hollowly, fisting his own hands as he looked at the book. The air was thick around him. His tongue was heavy in his mouth as the force from the book wound its way behind his heart and _pushed_. "The words merely require simplicity to act."

Thor shook his head, dismissing seiðr and her ways, while Sif narrowed her eyes in warning. "Loki," his name was low on her lips, she knowing him well. "Do not . . ."

"You must simply say, 'I wish that the goblins would come and take you away', no more, and no less," he finished, the odd thread of seiðr in the air pushing, and finally it _snapped _-

- before collapsing in on itself.

There was a flash of light, and the pulling sensation increased, taking root behind his ribs and in the marrow of his bones. Then there was the rise of feeling, of something missing, as the white light around them caught fire and became_ warmth_, as effervescent as starlight.

And then, just as quickly as the sensation came upon them, it was done.

When they looked up, Thor was gone.

Instead, the great barrier that separated the Vault from the common stacks of the library had transformed. Instead of a dance of green and golden light, it was now a portal, a gateway, showing the picture of another time, another place. The land it revealed was a sepia toned place, a sprawling maze the color of sand and orange earth. Vines grew on the walls in gnarled patterns, and a false sun shone down from a russet sky to give a permanent sense of twilight. The maze seemed to never end, going through forest and river, until it reached a summit, a castle of sorts that reigned above a cobbled together city . . .

And from that land there was a shadow, the shape of wings against the ground that gave to a violet flare of smoke and the glittering of dust as a being passed through the portal -

And then a man stood where Thor no longer did.

The man was tall. Tall and lean with leather armor more elaborate even than the showy displays that the courtiers in Odin's court could compare with. His brows were upswept and pale, like the wings of some hunting bird. He had a great mane of wild flyaway hair, like the bare tangle of a bird's nest in the dead months. When he smiled, his eyes showed no humor, and again Loki thought _avian_ and _danger _all at the same time. He was beautiful as certain wild things were beautiful, made to be seen from a distance but not touched. The fae magic pouring from him felt like talons in Loki's skin as it pooled, as it bowed and formed obeisance.

_Goblin King_, he felt the name on his lips, shaped as if to wish.

_Goblin King_, the magic on the air and in his bones proclaimed.

_Goblin King_, the haughty eyes and the bronze crest at his chest said, and -

"Goblin King," Sif hissed the title like a curse, quicker to recover than Loki, already standing before them both with Brünnhilde's dagger in her hand. "What have you done with Thor?" she spoke as if she held a blade to the King's throat, all War crossed as she stood tall with her ire and her blazing veins molten for all to see.

"That blonde oaf in the castle?" the Goblin King replied as if bored by the threat War presented, brushing an imagined speck of glitter from the leather covering his arms. "He is safe, more or less, and he has come not to harm."

It was not enough. "We demand that you return him to us," Sif's voice rang out again, whatever loss she bore in wordsmanship she more than made up for in feeling, baring her teeth and staring down the lord of the realm with fury in her eyes.

"What's said is said," the King replied, his smile unkind, "The magic cannot be undone. Not without a price."

"_All _magic can be undone," was Sif's sharp reply, stepping forth as if to march.

And the King merely looked at her, head tilted, before looking beyond her, to where Loki stood, the red book still clutched tight in his hands. His eyes beckoned. They waited.

And Loki looked up, and held his gaze. "It was I who wished him away," he claimed his error. "And I shall pay the price that magic demands."

"Think you that it will be so easy a price to pay?" the King returned, truly curious. Loki felt strands of wild magic winding their way around them – different from the power that had drawn Thor away, but yet still the same. This was different, not quite tamed, but held in check, like a wolf held in thrall by the white light of the moon.

"I never said that," Loki returned calmly. "But he is my brother, and the words said were not said truly. I will see my mistake made right."

"Were they not truly meant?" the King asked, "My Labyrinth is fickle, but never does she draw away where a wish is not true."

"The words were false," Loki said, his voice edged in steel, taking a step forward.

Cold, mismatched eyes regarded them from a tilted head. "Very well," the King finally gave in a bored tone, waving his hand in dismissal. Out of the orange air appeared a clock, with thirteen hours to its count. The King flicked a finger, and the hands swept to the first position on the face. "You, like many before you, have invoked the right to run the Labyrinth. Reach the castle at the center of the Goblin City before the clock strikes thirteen, and have your brother returned to you. Fail, and my claim shall stand. Then the lad shall join our kind . . . forever."

"Thirteen hours?" Sif protested, looking beyond them – the never ending coil of the maze, the thick rise of both forest and river, and then the mammoth city itself, the castle that reigned out haughtily over all. "Thirteen hours to make our way through such a place?"

"Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered," the King said as if reciting the words by rote. He laughed then, the warm sound catching on the edges, like the screeching of a bird. "For those revered by mankind as Gods, it should be no time at all."

"It is not fair," Sif protested, even still.

"So says War herself, " the King finally returned witheringly, raising a tall brow. "One must think your basis of comparison broader than most."

Sif stepped forward as if to strike, and Loki surged forward to match her. He grabbed her wrist, keeping her from attacking. "We will accept your most gracious offer," Loki said, looking at Sif rather than the king when he spoke. Her gaze was low and mutinous, and only a thin thread of obedience – warriors to their sovereigns – kept her from breaking his hold. "We shall see you at the end of thirteen hour's time."

"A time which begins now," the King's voice echoed around them as he waved a hand. The magic around them contracted, drawing them through the portal, into his world . . .

And then the king disappeared in a flash of violet smoke, his last words still echoing on the air around him even after he had faded away.

Instantly, the changes between the Labyrinth and Asgard were easy to see. Gone was the sweet air and the song of the stars. Instead the land around them was bitter and bland. Loki swallowed and tasted dust in his mouth. His lungs felt thick. Under his feet the ground was hard, scorched and barren.

At his side, Sif yanked her wrist from his hand. She did not take a moment to look at her surroundings and gather herself – she did not even wait for the King to completely disappear. As soon as she smelled the sweetness of magic as it moved, she took off down the hill, nearly running up to the outer wall of the Labyrinth. She had a fierce scowl on her face, splitting her countenance neatly in two. Loki followed, his longer legs letting him catch up to her even as she marched resolutely on.

They walked for a length and then another before finding that the wall of the maze had no opening. It was just the same cobbled brick, the same tangled vines, going on as far as the eye could see.

And Sif made an annoyed sound. "Find a way in, else I shall cut my own way in," Sif's voice was guttural in her throat, and Loki stood an arm's reach away, not caring to cross War when War was so angered.

He looked down the stone wall, which seemed to go one forever and ever without end or opening. Frowning, he reached out with the seiðr at his fingertips, searching -

- and stepped back as if slapped. The magic in the air swirled as if possessed, causing him to falter and his stride to fail. He narrowed his eyes as in his mind, a tinkling sound, like the laughter of a child, sounded.

_I would not do that if I were you_, the voice spoke. Where it had been the laughter of a child he had heard, it was the warm voice of a mother granted to him when the being spoke, as if a dozen different women were speaking at once.

And Loki blinked, looking at Sif – who was still staring at him, waiting. She had not heard the voice.

_Who are you? _Loki thought as loudly as he could, and at that the voice stilled, as if surprised.

_You can hear me?_ it asked. _Only one has ever heard me enough to try to reply. Once, long ago . . ._

His eyes narrowed. The seiðr at his hands burned.

_Ah, ah, ah_, the voice whispered, soft and warm. _The magic in this land is wild, who knows who will happen to your pretty charms if you cast them this way and that . . .  
_  
Again, Loki set his jaw._ And who are you to speak to me as such?_ he asked. _Who are you?_

But the voice was gone. No longer did it laugh. No longer did it search. And Loki fisted his hands, holding his power within himself, denying it an outlet.

Sif was still waiting for him, but she could feel the loss of seiðr on the air. "Well?" she asked him when he turned to push experimentally at the stone of the wall, looking for weaknesses in the vine and brick.

He shook his head. "I cannot use my seiðr here," he said. "This land is all wild magic, and my efforts will yield unexpected results."

Sif stared at him for a moment, searching his face as if she could see behind his eyes. Finally, the corner of her lip pulled in distaste and she abruptly turned on her heel, marching in the opposite direction of him. While the set of her stride was determined, the look in her eyes before she had turned had been . . . disappointment?

He felt his own ire rise in his throat as he stalked off after her, seiðr burning uselessly at his fingers in response to his annoyance. "You looked at me as if looking for a falsehood," he challenged. "I wish to know why."

Sif let out a low breath before unstrapping her glaive from her back. With a determined sound, she started striking at the wall, the stones chipping to her strength. "And what if I was?" she returned. Her next blow was savage, slicing through vine and bloom to find mortar beneath.

In his mind, the strange voice curled as if on a hiss, not quite a scream, and he winced as if feeling Sif's blows towards the wall against his own skin. "And what is that supposed to mean?" he hissed in return, the words sharper than he had intended due to the unexpected sensation.

When she drew her arm back to strike again, he reached out to catch her wrist before she could level another blow, not caring to feel the rippling effects of her anger. "The wall has done nothing to earn your ire, my Lady," he tried to speak with humor, but the words came out forced. "Let it be."

And Sif leveled a withering stare at him. "I am trying to find my friend. _Your_ brother."

Loki's eyes narrowed, making thin green slits in his face. "You wish to speak, Sif, so speak."

And with an inarticulate noise, Sif broke his hold on her, and shoved him back against the wall, her anger curling the corners of her eyes. She held her forearm over his neck, pressing him down, and for a moment it hurt to breathe. Loki did not break her stare, nor did he break her hold. He did not look away. "You wanted your brother to be taken," she finally accused. "It was just as the King said. You _wished_ it and you _meant_ it." And as he looked, it was more than anger in her eyes then, it was _hurt_, and -

"They were words, wrongly spoken," Loki said softly, the syllables catching at his mouth as if to make a wound. "Nothing more, and nothing less."

"_Rightly _spoken, for the invocation to work, so it would seem," Sif accused. "Elsewise, why did they not work when Thor spoke them?"

Her grip had loosened, and Loki pushed away from her and the wall, his jaw held tight and his hands curled in to fists. "Believe what you want," he finally said stiffly, the skin on his cheeks aching as if she had slapped him. "It matters not to me."

Sif watched him for a moment as he called what he could of his seiðr to him. The land around him was wild, filled with teeth and lined with scales, but he could feel a strand of logic amongst the maze, a sense of _rightness_.

He felt along the wall, until there was nothing – a gap that would not have been noticed, not even by eyes looking to search, and he disappeared into the maze.

"If you wish to follow," he called back over his shoulder to Sif. "We do not have much time to waste."

A heartbeat passed. He did not look back so much as he heard the strike of her boots against the ground. Her shadow joined his, and together they walked into the Labyrinth.


	2. through dangers untold

**Author's Note: **I wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for their awesome feedback. Who knew that this combination was so catchy? It is seriously a treat to write. Also, even after all of my Sif and Loki pieces, this is my first time writing from Loki's POV, I just realized. So, this is an expirament in more ways than one. I hope you enjoy it. :)

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**Part II: through dangers untold . . .**

The sunlight was orange and warm as it streamed through the tower windows in thick waves. The golden light gleamed as it touched everything in its way, coloring the great sandy stones of the castle in shades of flash and flame. Inside of the throne-room, ignoring the chaos that was coming from the foyer beyond, sat the Goblin Queen comfortably upon her throne, her chin propped up on one hand, looking deeply into a crystal that she twirled expertly with the other. She had one leg swung comfortably up over the armrest, her other leg tucked under her, all casual ease as she tapped her foot in time to the ever constant rhythm in the air, the song of the Labyrinth and her soul.

A counterpoint to her husband's pale fae looks, Sarah Williams was all black hair and glinting green eyes. She wore dark grey leggings and tall black leather boots, a vest of the same material clinched tight over a billowing white poets shirt by a thick belt, clasped shut with tiny bird skull buttons. Over the lower half of her ensemble she wore a leather skirt, the front of which was cut away to let her legs free – all the better to show off her boots, she had reasoned when the design was made. Her brother had informed her that the get-up made her look more like a pirate captain than a queen – no matter what the bronze pendant at her neck said, but Toby was at that age where everything he said was complete nonsense anyway, and so Sarah had paid him no heed. After all, she had out grown the need for layers of glitter and white – a fairytale's ball gown in every vision of the word - and she was quite content following the fashion trends of the Underground. There was a certain freedom to the style, after all.

Ignoring the chatter of the goblins beyond – which a conveniently spoken charm into the air had silenced to her ears alone – Sarah rolled the crystal in her hands, looking critically at the scene depicted within. They moved quickly, these two runners, she thought, flicking the crystal over her fingers in order to show her the path that awaited them ahead. The Labyrinth hummed in her ears at the scenes depicted within, all secrets and rhymes as she whispered about the twists to her maze. It was a whisper that hastened with the flare of power that came in on the air, the voice shaping itself as if to bow. At the greeting from the Labyrinth, Sarah glanced up from her crystal in time to see the shadow of wings, thrown from the light from the open window. Red red lips pulled into a grin at the smell of pine and storms and the violet scent of _magic_, and then did she put her crystal aside as a blonde head leaned down over her own from the side of the throne.

"How was work, dear?" she asked good-naturedly as she craned her head up in order to meet her husband's eyes.

"Oh, you know," Jareth replied as he wiped the glitter away from his arms. "Sharp mouthed brats and pleas to return wished away loved ones. Moving the stars, reordering time - the usual."

He leaned over the throne to kiss her in greeting, and she smiled against the kiss, reaching up to cup the back of his head through his thick mane of hair before releasing him. "Cheating, you mean?" she challenged after a moment, her eyes glinting wickedly.

"The usual," he merely repeated, ever insufferable. His grin widened at her dubious look, showing the sharp points of his teeth, and Sarah shook her head, brushing him away so that she could look at her crystal once again. They runners were making it quickly through the outer maze once they figured out the way to move between the seemingly never-ending walls. The tall one had a sharp head on his shoulders, and the girl determination to match . . . Sarah frowned, turning the crystal to see the pale green aura that hugged the boy's body in the Labyrinth's eye. Most curious indeed.

Jareth leaned over her shoulder in order to peer into the crystal she was holding. Absently, he rubbed her shoulders, and Sarah hummed in the back of her throat, reaching up to cover his hand with her own for a moment. "But still, you have to imagine my surprise this morning to have my breakfast interrupted by Squeak – who was babbling on and on with the news that the goblins had brought back a sovereign son into our realm – wished away by his brother, a seiðrmaðr, at that." Her observation was a question, her narrowed eyes an accusation.

"Who, him?" Jareth gestured over to where beyond throne-room, a legion of goblins were trying to rope the wished away youth into some form of complacency. He sniffed derisively at the sight. "He's just an overgrown lad, rather strapping for his age."

Sarah sent a withering look at him, which Jareth returned innocently. "We are a shadow land," she said next, speaking patiently, as if addressing a particularly slow child. "We exist between worlds – and it is not to us to take a royal child of one of the foremost realms."

Jareth snorted. "Really? That is no child there," he said, his words punctuated as Thor threw three goblins from his back and started swatting at the dozen before him who poked bravely at him with frying pans and feather dusters. A rather unfortunate goblin who hadn't ducked in time went sailing by their heads to fly out of the window behind them, the creature's cry of _'wheeeeeee' _heard all the way down to the ground. In the throne-room, the three matronly goblins who had been sweeping the flagstone floor (one of Sarah's conditions of moving to the Underground being that of cleanliness for the castle, amongst other things) and bemoaning the loss of their feather dusters shrugged, and gave the fall a rating of five. Jareth shook his head, his eyes rolling to the ceiling as if to pray for long-suffering at the antics of his subjects. "And the law of the Labyrinth is clear. My claim will stand if brought to question."

"Odin will not see it that way," still Sarah challenged.

And Jareth just grinned predatorily, as if looking forward to the Allfather's pique.

Sarah sighed at the look, rolling her eyes dramatically as she slumped back down against the throne. "The next council meeting is going to be _hell_, you do understand that?" she complained. "We were just invited back to Álfheimr after that fiasco with Gandalf's twelfth daughter and the bog, and I _like _attending the fae rings, Jareth, I don't want to be banned from that again - "

Jareth shook his head without a care, leaning over to place a finger on her lips, silencing her mid rant. Her green eyes narrowed crossly on him, flaring a colour of spring with her annoyance. "As always, I look forward to seeing your diplomatic prowess in action, precious."

"Diplomatic prowess? Don't you mean, _'cleaning up after you'_? We can call things by their proper names here, of all places," she retorted, pushing his hand away. "You left glitter on the floor again, by the way. Don't think I didn't see that."

"As always, your keen powers of observation and acerbic wit show to me the errors of my ways," he said slyly, his mismatched eyes glinting impishly.

Sarah raised a disparaging brow. "And speaking of the error of your ways, why did you take one brother and not the other? Your claim could have worked with either set of words."

"And have that blonde oaf hacking his way through my Labyrinth? Really, precious," he shuddered at the thought. Even though his words were flippant, he straightened from his teasing pose over her in order to clasp his hands behind his back, pacing between the length of two flagstones before turning back to her again.

Her look still held, but her voice softened. "I'm serious, though," she pushed. "You always have a reason for every claim – the _Labyrinth _always has a reason for every claim. Tell me, why did you make this one now?"

And Jareth ran a hand through his flyaway hair, his brow furrowed as if troubled. There was a shadow in his eyes then, matching them with the weight of something dark. "You can feel it, can't you?" he finally asked rather than answering her question straightaway. "I know you can, even if it is just the very edges."

Sarah frowned at his words, but closed her eyes at his implication. In her land, she had a certain amount of kindredness to the magic running the labyrinth due to her role as Queen, and even more since accepting Jareth's hand and tying her lifeline to his – granting her immortality as long as he kept on living. Even more than that, she had the Labyrinth's touch of magic since besting it, all of those years ago – binding the magic to her by right of champion. And then . . . from many years before that . . . she had the magic of childhood dreams and belief, powers given to her by the Goblin King before she was old enough to understand exactly what that meant . . .

And now, in her head, the Labyrinth _sang_. She hummed and laughed and whispered with hope, as she had not in so many years - since the belief of mankind in magic had waned, and the innocence of childhood became something corrupted, stabbing at the very heart of the Labyrinth and her reason for existing.

"It is like she knows spring right now," Sarah finally said, an ache in her bones as the Labyrinth's pulse pushed in time with her own heartbeat, with the rise and fall of her breathing. "She knows spring where she has been in autumn for too long."

His smile, when it came this time, was sad. His eyes were soft and fond as they met her own, and at the look she felt her heart skip for a moment, the Labyrinth in her veins echoing the beat.

"As if she is breathing, even around the weight that is pressing against her chest?" Jareth supplied for her, and Sarah inhaled, holding the breath in her mouth, before letting it out slow.

"The boy?" she questioned after a moment, letting the Labyrinth pulse in her mind like the waves against the shore.

"The boy," Jareth agreed, letting the words sink in. Until -

"You wouldn't," finally, cross green eyes snapped to his as enlightenment filled her. But already there was resignation in her bones, in her voice. And -

"I would," Jareth confirmed, folding his arms and standing tall before her. There was a hardness to his eyes then, a determination that had at one time stood against – and matched, even – her own.

She sighed then, rubbing at her temples, feeling a migraine come on. "The next council meeting?" she repeated again. "_Hell_."

"It's not fair?" he supplied to her, his eyes glinting cruelly.

"Not one bit," she folded her arms and stood from her throne, every bit a reflection of and match for him.

"I'll make it up to you," his words were quick and playful, but there was a very real worry in his eyes as he spoke, a foreign tightness to his jaw. Carefully, Sarah moved to stand before him, reaching up a hand to touch where the feathery strands of his hair brushed his jawline. She moved her hand up, clearing his uneven bangs away from his face in order to look him in the eye as around them the Labyrinth built and swirled in her pores, reacting to the will of its king. It listened. It obeyed.

And Sarah put on the best confident smirk she could manage. She cupped his face in her hands, letting her thumbs rest on the haughty line of his cheekbones. "I look forward to that, your majesty," she said, her smile a slant on her face. He reached up to cover her hands with his own. For a moment the icy demeanor of him faltered, and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. He shared her breath.

"As my queen challenges, then," he met her words. A heartbeat passed, and then he stepped back, breathing in deep before reaching up to straighten his tall collar. He looked past her, waving his hand to dissolve the spell that had kept silence in the throne-room. Instantly the sound of squeaking and high pitched war cries met their ears, along with the just as expected protests of the Labyrinth's latest claim. Before the chaos of the goblins and their prisoner was a knee high dwarf in robes of state, his gruff voice irked as he tried to corral the goblins into some sort of order when binding the Thunderer – who was having naught of the charmed ropes that the goblins were trying to lasso him with.

"To the left! To the left," the dwarf cried, throwing his small arms as if to demonstrate his words. "Cwryten, pullin' on his hair like that will accomplish _nothin'_. Do you wanna go out of the window like Morhan did? You know what? Never mind. Don' answer that."

Sarah snorted at the sight, and Jareth looked on in snide amusement. While managing such a populace could be . . . straining at times (the maternal instincts of the Labyrinth having taken the creatures in long before their reign), it certainly was . . . entertaining when one was able to fight past the headache the days of open court brought.

And Hoggle stomped his foot in frustration against the floor. "Augh! But how did you get tangled up like that? Idyot, you're just gonna cut off circulation to your brain if you keep that up!" Finally, he stalked forward, pushing up his red sleeves as if readying for a fight. "Never mind. If yous want somethin' done right, yous have to do it yourself." The dwarf made a fist, looking fit to have his own go at the Thunderer when -

"Hogwart," Jareth interrupted grandly, "that won't be necessary."

The dwarf skidded to a halt before turning sharply on his heel, his balance off for a moment as steam veritably pouring from his ears. His eyes seethed as he walked towards the throne. "_Hoggle_," he corrected irritably, "My name is _Hoggle_," just as Sarah muttered, "it's _Hoggle, _dear_,_" under her breath and elbowed her husband in the side.

"Higgle." Jareth sniffed, correcting his mistake and throwing his head haughtily. "I have need of your services."

At the announcement, Hoggle raised a bushy brow, his eyes clearly doubting. Still, he took to one knee before his queen and king, even though his bowed head was inclined towards Sarah – the show of obeisance more for her sake than anything else. Sarah hid her smile behind her hand while Jareth rolled his eyes and muttered something that suspiciously sounded like _bog_ and _far too long_.

Instantly, Hoggle's bow deepened. Jareth gave a predatory smile before seeing Sarah's glare. Quickly, he schooled his face.

He cleared his throat, getting to the matter at hand. "Hoggle," he finally gave the dwarf's name, implying the seriousness of his words. In his hand, two crystals had formed, and he rolled them back and forth between his fingers until a scene appeared within them. "We have runners coming upon us, and they are moving fast. Make sure that they never reach the city."

He tossed one of the crystals to Hoggle, who caught it with a clumsy hand before looking down at the orb, seeing his quarry within. The dwarf looked down, and then up at his King, nodding his head solemnly at the task given of him.

"It's time to play the game," Jareth announced with a hunting grin, before throwing his remaining crystal up into the air. And in its depths could be seen -

.

.

- nothing but wall after wall after wall.

Already they had passed their first hour traversing the outer ring of the Labyrinth. The same old stone walls stretched on for as far as the eye could see – the maze only shifting direction when they found gaps in the wall like the one that had allowed them to enter. The vines clinging to the walls grew in tangles and spirals, dead blooms on their curling fingers that struggled to thrive in the odd half light around them.

In Loki's mind, there was a low hum, the hint of _another_ in the maze, in the ground, in the walls, heavier than the air; but he could no longer hear her words. It was as if the voice was holding its breath, and Loki -

"At this rate, it will take thirteen hours just to navigate away from the wall," Sif muttered darkly, interrupting his thoughts. His gaze flickered back for a moment before looking ahead again, reaching out to find the places between the walls that would lead them through.

Sif had put her glaive away, he noticed, counting that as a success. But her hand was still very close to the dagger she wore at her belt, her first finger tapping against her thumb as if she itched to draw the steel.

And Loki swallowed. "We are not repeating our steps," he said carefully. "Of that much I am certain."

While the voice he had heard outside of the Labyrinth had been silent, the lingering taste of her presence had mingled with his senses. Their path behind them was a thread hovering in the air, coloured like a flame, while the path he concentrated on following was a thread of gold before them, the trail a vague sort of rightness akin to that of a wolf following a scent. Sif had not questioned his path yet – her own form of letting their row from earlier go, but he could feel her eyes between his shoulder-blades as he led them. His skin itched as he imagined the hook to her frown, the narrow cast of her eyes. And finally, he turned over his shoulder to look her in the eyes.

She held his gaze, unconcerned that he had caught her stare. "Where is everyone?" she finally asked. "The Labyrinth has a king, so this is a kingdom. Does the Goblin King have naught of subjects?"

And finally, Loki let his grin turn on his face. "Perhaps they are all scared away?"

And Sif's face turned thoughtful. "High taxes?"

Loki snorted. "Or an overabundance of glitter."

She did not laugh, but she sniffed in amusement, something like a truce in the sound. She would not apologize where she did not think herself wrong, and he would not pry at a battle that he knew he would not win – one from which he already bore a wound, at that. At the thought, his expression sobered, and he turned back to the golden thread they followed, expecting silence to fall between them again.

"Your spells are much cleaner," she said then, her voice a whisper from her throat, as if she was not sure whether or not she wished to speak. "I prefer your seiðr to the magic of this place."

And Loki blinked, and looked back at her, surprised. "Thank-you," he said awkwardly.

Sif nodded her head sharply, as if she had just fought a great battle, and marched on with a quicker stride, as if eager to put her words behind her. Loki watched her for a moment, finding the muscle in her jaw that told of her unease with his eyes, and fisting his hands as if not to touch before matching her pace.

With their next turn, the path and the brown vines started to give way to a cleaner stone, these the colour of white sand, and green vines, awash with white flowers. The path before them was clean, as if it had a caretaker. The air was sweeter, the sky above them losing the colour of twilight, and instead taking on the bright cast of the early morning light.

And the golden thread before them led them to a crossroads in the outer maze, the different paths held together by a circle shaped intersection. He counted, and found twelve possible paths spinning off from the corridor they just came from, making thirteen directions in total. The walls formed a circular shape, and in the middle of that open space, there was a great fountain, the colour of the water within such a bright and glowing blue that Loki was reminded of the pools of Asgard over anything else he had seen in this land thus far. In the center of the fountain, there was a statue of a woman with three faces, holding a ball of thread. Each of her three faces was the same woman, in a different stage of life. The first was that of a young woman, a maiden, fair and smiling sweetly. The second face was that of a middle aged woman, her face maternal and kind. The third face was gnarled and old, creased with wisdom and heavy with time, but still as lovely as ravaged things could be. From each of the three mouths, water spouted in a dancing fall of foam and spray, the spouts seemingly defying the laws of gravity in order to dance to the tune of the maze around them before falling to the pool below. No matter the figure's face, she seemed to hold the thread in her hands as if it were a treasure, a lifeline.

Loki felt a chill looking at the hag's eyes before turning away to Sif's sigh of frustration. "Now which way do we go?"

Loki looked down, but the thread of light – that sense of rightness he had been following – had seemed to pool around the woman in the fountain, as if greeting a long lost friend, and it seemed ill at ease to continue on their journey again. He felt his ire building behind his face, and he set his jaw in annoyance at the rebellious strand of seiðr. Unexpected results, indeed.

"I do not know," he finally said, looking down one path and then the other. They all looked the same.

And Sif stood before the fountain, and tapped her chin thoughtfully. For the first, she held her hands away from the weapon at her belt.

"A pity you can't fly up and see which path leads to the castle," she said, her mouth curving.

And he snorted. "Wouldn't that be cheating?"

"In this place? Hardly," was her derisive answer, and at her words, he felt his own smile stretch, a warmth pooling inside of him where his fear and his guilt had been a yellow sort of sensation before.

Shaking her head, Sif stepped towards one path, and then hesitated, looking down another. "My sense is thrown," she admitted. "I have no idea which is east and which is west, and something tells me that what I perceive as right is nothing but an illusion in this place."

Loki nodded at her words, perceptive one who could feel naught of the elemental arts, but he kept his theories to himself. Realms like this, the kingdoms between kingdoms, dwelt outside of time and space, and what was up was now down, and what left was now right. The seiðr inside of him was swimming back and forth as if drunk, lost on an ocean's waves.

But he set his shoulders and looked determinedly down the nearest corridor, thinking about Thor and his simple, idiotic smile, and his wish to practice his arms in the library aisles when it was raining out of doors, and -

There was a twinge, low in his side, by his ribs. He breathed in with the pain, and then let it go. It was no use to him now.

And that was when they heard it.

Around the fountain, bright spots of light started to appear, like snowflakes, but set aflame with a white aura. The specks of light sounded like music on the air, bright and tinkling, like the chiming of bells. It was sweet and earnest and lovely, and both Loki and Sif paused to look as the white flakes came closer, taking on shapes . . .

They were faeries, a closer view revealed. Faeries singing their songs to the air, with lovely, delicate faces and tiny bodies draped with flowers and tattered dresses the colour of snow. They danced and twirled with the spouts of water in the fountain before them, and the young woman in the statue seemed to smile with fondness and recognition as their song reached her ears. The fairies sang their song, and their teeth flashed sharp and pointed on the air, and -

"You don't want to do that," Loki said, reaching out to bat Sif's hand away with she held it out to the faerie closest to her. As soon as he spoke, a new voice behind them joined them, saying, "I wouldn' do that if I was yous."

"Ow!" Sif exclaimed in surprise more than anything else as she drew her hand back away from the faerie. The buzz of wings around them lost their elemental sound, instead taking on the fierce hum of insects. And Sif narrowed her eyes. "She _bit_ me," she announced, perplexed, looking down at the tiny wound on her hand, glittering with a silver light.

"I told you faeries were evil," Loki muttered darkly.

"Only these ones," the dwarf huffed irritably, ignoring them completely in order to spray a silver coloured mist at the fairies as if they were pests. The faeries hissed at him, but their wings fluttered as they took off higher than the dwarf could reach, as if taunting him. "Elsewhere theys are nice enough. But you should know better, touchin' somethin' in the Labyrinth without knowin' whether it be friend or foe. Really, this place is gonna eat you up."

At the words, Loki's eyes glinted thoughtfully. "Dwarf, you wouldn't be able to show us a way to the Goblin City, would you?" he asked.

"The name is _Hoggle_, and why would I's do that?" the dwarf huffed irritably, not even looking at them as he set about hitting as many of the fairies as he could with the potion in his hands.

"Higgle," Loki addressed him good naturedly.

"_Hoggle_ -"

"Hogwart," Loki continued smoothly, trying to fight a grin as the dwarf bristled in irritation, muttering, "_What is so hard about Hoggle_?" under his breath. "You _will_ show us the right path to take," he spoke deeply, looking the dwarf in the eye as he tried to remember Odin addressing his squabbling court when he had an unfavorable decision to deliver. He remembered, and tried to adopt the bearing as his own, remembering how all had cowered before his father, terrible and great, and _listened_.

The dwarf snorted. "Yous is not making a very convincing case. Again, why should I help you?"

"Because," Loki said, forgetting Odin's ways for those of his own, his voice silver, his tone molten, "when we reach the castle at the center of the Goblin City – and we will, we will tell your king how you failed in your task."

And Hoggle raised a bushy brow. "I's failed?" he questioned dubiously.

"Very much so," Loki stood up haughtily, crossing his arms before him. "It is your job to attend to the faeries so that their numbers do not endanger the residents of this kingdom, is it not?" He gestured to the potion in the dwarf's hands.

Hoggle eyed him darkly. "Amongst other things."

"And you failed in that task," Loki rounded his point in a tight voice, disapproval thick in his eyes. "The Lady here was injured by a faerie bite. Do you know who she is, for you to have failed so?"

The dwarf just glared. "Who's she?"

"She is the Daughter of War himself, Sif Týrdottir, Lady of Asgard and heir to War and all of her rights and titles therein. She is a guest in your kingdom, and she was so harmed while you failed in your duties." Dutifully, Sif held out her wounded finger, a pained look on her face that Loki wouldn't have thought to attribute to her before. The warrior woman, an actress as well?

_Mischief and trickery and war entwined_, a little voice whispered in the back of his mind, and he pushed it away. _Not now._

And the dwarf just huffed. "Yous have a long way to go before you go about intimidatin' others. I is used to starin' down those ten times what yous are now. So give it a rest."

And Loki deflated, his green eyes still narrowed. "If I cannot appeal to your sensibilities, then how about to your sense?" By his side, Sif straightened, her injured finger forgotten as she stared crossly at the dwarf, tapping her hand on her dagger as if she had her own ideas of how to coerce the dwarf's good nature. Hoggle just glared at that too.

But then Loki extended his hand, and in his palm was the glinting illusion of jewels – rubies and emeralds and diamonds and more, all a synchrony of light and color in his hand, drawing the dwarf's eye.

"And theys aren't plastic?" he asked suspiciously.

"Plastic?" Loki questioned.

"Yeahs, plastic," the dwarf repeated, annoyed. "It's a human thing, makin' em look real when really theys isn't."

"It is not . . . plastic," Loki rolled the word on his tongue like it was a curse.

"There better be three of them red ones," the dwarf finally decided. "And four of them green ones. And a white one. A very big one."

Sif rolled her eyes. "Dwarfs," she mumbled as to the show of greed.

"It's Hoggle," the dwarf stressed again. "_Hoggle_, little missy."

"Hogger," Loki interrupted smoothly. "We have a deal."

"You ain't no better than his glitteryness," Hoggle said under his breath. "He'll bog me for this, for sure." Even still, the dwarf reached forward, as if to snatch the jewels from Loki's hand. But the prince snatched his hand back, making a fist and destroying the illusion in a flare of light and mist.

"Ah ah," Loki said, "Not until you give us a path to follow. Please, lead on."

"Fine," the dwarf grumped, turning sharply from them. The faeries scattered when he headed towards the sixth path, determination in his little strides. "But stay close and keep up, I's have very important duties to attend to, and yous can't be keepin' me."

"We wouldn't dare," Loki said smoothly, and he and Sif fell into step behind the dwarf, walking even deeper into the Labyrinth.


	3. and hardships unnumbered

**Author's Note: **And, here we are with the latest instalment in the tale. This chapter deals a lot with the Labyrinth and her purpose - which is really just a lot of my inner ramblings and theories come to life, seeing as how the film didn't really think past Bowie's hair styles and the glitter for the special effects to flesh out the more meta aspects of a kids movie, so, I had lots of free reign as an author, which was really just brilliant. I hope you guys enjoy this tale as it continues to unfold. :)

* * *

**Part III: . . . and hardships unnumbered**

Eventually, the white walls and fragrant vines of the path they had been taking gave way to the tangle of the middle maze. This part of the Labyrinth was all walls formed by immaculately trimmed hedges and glittering cobblestone walkways that reminded Loki more of Frigg's gardens back at home more than anything else in the kingdom they had seen so far. The air was warmer here. The midday sun hung high over their heads and shined a cheery light over everything before them. There were pots of exotic flowers and strange statues of even stranger creatures. It was here they finally saw denizens of the Goblin Kingdom – great wooly beasts who tended to the plants, and a blind wiseman offering his knowledge for coin. There were doorways who spoke and bickered and birds who argued with the red dressed goblins who carried this and that to and through – all who steadily ignored the foreign travelers, as if such runners were a common occurrence in the great maze. And then there was the law in the Labyrinth, rows and rows of Goblin guards who hardly came up to Loki's knees, trying to march in some semblance of formation, even though the little creatures seemed to be more harm to themselves rather than others with their spears and suits of armor. Sif stepped daintily around one of the fallen guards, who had toppled over due to the lopsided weight of his helm upon his head, and looked over at Loki with a worried stare. "I do not trust the dwarf," she finally said under her breath. "Who knows where he leads us to."

Loki shrugged at her words, considering how to answer. He bore the same nagging concern at the back of his mind, but he knew not what other path to follow. "We were not making progress on our own, and at the very least we have not retraced our steps. We have not circled." Still behind them, where they came from was a trail of flaming light – a single path in a maze of thousands, even where the path before them was muddled.

Still Sif was dubious. "His loyalty is not to us," she said. "Not even for the trinkets you have promised him."

"And you think his loyalty is for his king?" Loki questioned, curious, the question one he had been turning over in his mind.

Sif's mouth turned. "I think not," she said. "And yet . . . it is just a feeling I have, one I cannot properly put into words."

And Loki sighed. "He is a means to an end," he finally said, his words shaped to sooth. "Nothing more."

"And yet, we have not reached our own end," Sif pointed out.

"The journey is long," Loki said carefully. "It requires patience."

"As you say," she finally replied after a long heartbeat. Still she wore her doubts in her eyes, but she had given them voice, and now the choice of how to proceed was his. Sif watched him a moment longer, before sighing and falling a half step behind him, taking up a point to guard out of reflex as much as anything else. Loki fought the urge to look over his shoulder again.

Another stretch of the wall disappeared behind them. Another turn, and Loki gave up looking at the sun above in order to keep their path, instead turning to the odd strands of magic he could feel coiling around his skin. The same voice from outside of the maze was humming in his ears, sounding against his ribs. Her song tugged at him, drawing his feet even more than their dwarfish guide before them, and he felt his stomach pull with more than just Sif's words. Something was not right with their path. But neither was it wrong. He tilted his head at the sensation, trying to discern an answer from the childlike laughter in the air.

And then Sif spoke again, even lower than she had given her doubts about the dwarf. The first had been intended for more ears than just theirs. This was for him alone. "You are distracted," she stated. There was not a question in her voice but rather the unspoken as to how her aid was needed.

And he slowed a half step, matching her stride for stride again. "This land sings," he finally admitted without her having to search. For a moment he let himself hope that speaking the words out loud would make more sense of them in his mind. "She hums and she whispers past what I can hear, and yet I cannot get her to speak to me again."

"Again?" Sif queried, taking the presence of such a being in stride, her fingers still tapping against the hilt of her dagger.

"Outside of the maze," he answered. "She told me of my seiðr and how it would move in ways I did not intend . . . she showed to me the secret of the wall."

Sif raised a brow. "A spirit?" she questioned.

Loki shook his head. "A soul," he said, for there was a difference.

Sif frowned, biting at her lip. "Of the maze?" she asked slowly, carefully, for such magicks were old – even older than the incantation that had drawn them to this realm in the first place.

"Perhaps," Loki said slowly, fighting the shiver that had crept underneath his skin. The sun warmed air around them was suddenly cold. "I cannot be sure, and she teases me so . . . It is driving me mad."

The corners of her mouth turned, just slightly, and Loki rolled his eyes at her amusement. "But she will not lead us to Thor," he finally said. "And this dwarf has led us nowhere for long enough."

A quicker step, putting him a stride ahead of her. Sif shadowed his right side, guarding his corners, watching his blind spots. "Master dwarf," he called out. "How much longer must we be upon this path?"

"Such impatience," the dwarf grumbled under his breath.

"Speed is imperative to us and our journey, yes," Loki countered smoothly.

"It's not like its gonna matter anyway," Hoggle went on grumpily. "We ain't ever had no one to run the Labyrinth and defeat the King in under thirteen hours. Yous may as well go back the way you came and settle yourselves to forgettin'. There'll be less pain that way."

Loki raised a brow, reading the pause that had lingered between the dwarf's first words. "No one has? Ever?"

Hoggle hesitated. "One did . . . once. A human girl, a long time ago. But she was special – so don' even try to compares yourselves."

And in Loki's mind the voice of the maze hummed, as if fond. "Special?" still he snorted. "A mere mortal maiden?"

Hoggle's look turned stony, and he bristled. "She was more than just a human girl – she was my _friend_." His small chest puffed with pride, and he thumped his fist over his heart. "And more than that, she was the Labyrinth's friend – which yous are not. So, it doesn't matter how fast we go or not. Jus' take your time, and enjoy the scenery."

And Loki snorted. "We shall see about that."

Hoggle shook his head, but then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully as they turned yet another corner, coming to an intersection in the paths punctuated by massive ivory vases - as tall as Loki would be in his battle helm, holding exotic plants with tall and flowering fronds.

But one vase was empty, holding a heavy decorative stone over the top of it until a gardener's care could be brought to it's attention. Hoggle bounced up the stone steps to the vase, and with his little arms straining, he gave a great heave to remove the stone from the top of the vase. He peered down in critically before nodding his head sharply. "This is the one," he announced. "Come on now, don't be shy."

With that, Hoggle swung himself over the lip of the vase and disappeared within, sticking his head back out when he realized that they did not follow right away.

"It's a shortcut," Hoggle waved them in. "Since yous are so big on _time_. Come on now."

Cautiously, Loki approached the vase and looked down . . .

To see nothing but blackness within, as far as the eye could see. It was a secret path, to be sure, but . . .

Sif looked on in distaste at the blackness, her upper lip drawn back. "I do not like it," she announced frankly.

"You don' have to," the dwarf retorted from where he was waiting. "You jus' have to follow. And, by the way, this'll cost you two more of 'em red ones," Hoggle laughed nastily, and Loki leveled a withering stare at the dwarf, the seiðr at his fingertips whispering just how he could turn the creature to a toad once they made it to the castle, deal or not . . .

"I's ain't waiting for yous, so make up your minds – yes or no," and, with that, the dwarf disappeared completely into the darkness, his small grunts as he climbed down heard for some time before he yelled up again. "Well, are yous comin'?"

And Sif saw the decision in his eyes. She sighed. "I'll go first," she said stiffly, making sure her glaive was secure on her back before swinging a leg up and over the side of the vase.

But Loki reached out for her wrist, staying her. She blinked, as if surprised, looking down to where he held her arm before looking up to meet his eyes, a question in her gaze. "You need not," he protested. "I will go -"

"And then how should I explain to your lady mother how I let not one, but two of her sons come to harm, should such a harm wait below?"

Loki's mouth pulled. "Better you tell the Allmother that I was harmed righting my wrong than _I _have to tell Lady Gná how you fell aiding me in that repentance."

And Sif's smile was sharp. "It would serve you right. Call that my own punishment for you, if it would sooth your soul when the time comes."

Loki rolled his eyes, and Sif shook her head, sending the short strands of her hair flying about her face like a wing. Her eyes were determined, all War waiting for the command to march when there was a battle to be waged.

"Trust me," she bid, her mouth a determined smirk on her face. "Whatever is down there, I can face it – even better than you, I would bet."

He snorted. "In this place? I think not."

And she laughed darkly. "Even beings with magic bleed," she promised. "This I know."

"Then who am I to keep you from your sport?" and with those words, Loki stepped back. His hands were fists at his sides, his seiðr whispering of a wrongly taken step while the voice of the maze in his head hummed and approved, and how much louder was she in the darkness of the Labyrinth, his fingers itching with the urge to go _down_. . .

Sif climbed down then, the inky crown of her head the last thing to disappear in the blackness before her voice rose above to call him down after. "It's all clear," she called after a moment. "You can come down now."

Loki took a deep breath, and then lowered himself into the shadows after her.

The walls of the chute were odd – reaching out to grab him, as if there were hands helping him lower himself down and then down further still, finding handhold and foothold on the strangely soft wall. The stone underneath his hands was leathery, and his eyes narrowed as he peered down past Sif and asked aloud, "Where is Hodgkin?"

And from above them, the dwarf's head appeared at the lip of the tunnel. "It's _Hoggle_," the dwarf snorted through his laughter, and Loki had the fleeting feeling of _trap_ and _trick_ as the dwarf sneered out, "_Gods. _Yous were so confident in me bein' a coward an' a traitor. Yous didn't think me to have a lick of loyalty to the King."

"Loyalty?" Loki snorted. In that way, at least, he was positive his read on the dwarf had not been wrong. The hum of the maze in his ear pitched deeper, as if in agreement. "Not a bit of it."

"Wells," the dwarf hedged. "Jareth I could be bought against, but Her Majesty? Theres be more than loyalty there. She's my . . . she's my friend, you see. An' her will is as great as her power is strong. Neither are to be crossed."

Again the dwarf said as much, and the voice in Loki's head hummed warmly, as if fond memory at the mention of its queen. Loki rolled his eyes as he pieced the puzzle together and thought: _typical_. Of course that had been the one thing he had overlooked. The girl who had defeated the Labyrinth was now its queen by right of Champion, and he had made a very, _very_ large mistake.

"Now its to be farewells between us," the dwarf waved, huffing with his exertion as he pushed the large stone back over the pit. "Toodles."

And then the darkness was complete.

First thing was first, he thought, flexing his hands against the walls of the chute. They needed to go up and force the top from the pit, or down . . . Down to where he could feel the maze pulsing, the voice in his mind echoing as if coming down from far below. He shook his head, and tried to ignore the calling voice. Now was not the time.

"Typical dwarf," Sif seethed to the darkness. "I knew we shouldn't have trusted him."

Loki shook his head, and tried to draw a hand away from the wall in order to summon a flame to light their way. He didn't dare just try the incantation with his words, with how his seiðr worked in the Labyrinth, but he could not get his hand from the wall. There was something holding him.

He felt a spike of alarm in his chest, right as Sif exclaimed, "There is something holding us."

He flexed his hand again, feeling the leathery wall that was holding him secure. Strong fingers seemed to hold him - at his wrists and arms and sides, and suddenly the leathery sensation registered in his mind, and he blanched. "Sif, there are _hands_ holding us."

"Hands?" she repeated, dumbfounded, her voice strained as if struggling. He heard steel moving then, and pain flashed in his mind, a phantom sting across his palm as the spirit of the maze fed to him her own pain. The coppery scent of blood filled the air, catching in his nose.

"Sif, do not cut the hands," he hissed, feeling absurd even as he said it.

The shadows moved then, and the wall seemed to swirl as if alive . . .

And then the hands began to speak.

"We are here to help," the hands said brightly, the fingers moving in a gross parody of speaking mouths. "We wouldn't want you to fall now, would we? So you can put your sharp stick away, we don't bite."

"We don't have the teeth to," another of the hands said brightly.

" . . . helping hands?" Sif muttered dubiously. "You cannot be serious."

"Well, they _are _keeping us from falling," Loki pointed out logically. He could imagine her glare in return, and his cheeks flushed in the shadows.

"Clever, Odinson," her voice scathed.

Loki rolled his eyes at the darkness.

And the hands carried on brightly, a dozen different voices alternating to form their words. "We just need to know if you want to go up -"

And then there was the odd sensation of dozens of hands lifting him up the shaft, one over the other over yet another again.

" - or down." And then the hands lowered him, his stomach dropping with the sudden change, and his head swimming dizzily as the voice of the maze flared in his mind, louder from the bottom of the pit. Loki flexed his hands, and wished he could summon a light to see . . .

"Up or down," the hands prompted. "There are only two ways to go."

In his mind, the voice of the maze hummed, and he had the barest flash of teasing eyes and three faces as one . . .

"Up?"

. . . looking up at them from the bottom of the chute.

"Or down?"

So, "Down," he said without thinking, "Down, if you would not mind."

"Down?" was Sif's indignant squawk from below him. "You want to go _down_? We have no idea what is down there, and I have a dwarf to harm _up _above."

But it was too late. "Down it is," the hands chirped merrily, and then they started to fall_. _The darkness around them began to move and the shadows danced as the hands began to clap . . . "Down, down, down, down!" And then his stomach dropped as the hands _let go_.

And they fell down.

Down and down and down into the blackness below . . .

Loki flailed his hands, but he could find no purchase or grip. The hands were silent, or more likely, gone completely, and left to them was a unending chasm spanning on and on before them. Loki closed his eyes and thought _land, we have to land_, worrying about the speed of their fall and the height . . .

_Do you not know that such things do not matter here?_, a warm voice in his head sounded, like it had outside of the Labyrinth, but this time ten times more clear than it had been, so close as they were to the ancient core of the maze._ Not as you are now. It is your will that shapes the maze, not the other way around. _The voice shook her head, as if she were a mother, explaining a concept to a child with wide eyes, slow to understand.

_Then, I wish to land_, Loki 'thought' at the voice of the Labyrinth, raising his chin towards the darkness before adding, _if you please_, bowing his head as if he were a mortal at prayer.

And the voice smiled in his mind, giving him the faint glimpse of the second face, that which was the Mother, as she said, _All you had to do was ask._

_Down, then._

Loki summoned the fickle strands of his seiðr to back up his will, and thought _softly _as an afterthought, taking an instinctive breath in, bracing himself as he sensed more than felt the floor of the chute rush up to meet him.

_Softly, softly, softly!_ He tried to amend in his mind, but it was too late. The air around them shifted, and he had the unpleasant situation of the ground meeting his back, stealing his air from his lungs. He winced, feeling the beginnings of a bruise start for a mere half second before he heard a strangled shout, and Sif landed with a thud right on top of him, a curse on her lips as she sprawled awkwardly atop of him.

He felt his breath leave his lungs in an uncomfortable swoosh of air as he tried to breathe past her weight. As he recovered himself, the discomfort of her landing on him quickly evaporated in favor of a warm sensation in the pit of his stomach. She was warm and slight and smelled like the fields before the harvest and steel when it had been warmed in the sun. Instinctively, he reached up his hands to help brace her. Her skin was warm and smooth underneath his fingers and he ran a thumb over the long upraised stretch of a familiar scar under her arm as she shifted away from him with a curse, shaking her head and gathering her bearings, she having not had prior warning of their landing as he did.

She slid down him, and his cheeks flamed, and he was grateful that she could not see his blush as Fandral and his various tales of how such chance collisions had led to many a favourable interlude ran through his head. But none of them seemed to apply, the red rising to his cheeks being his alone as Sif awkwardly dug her hand into her stomach in an effort to brace her weight and find her balance. The metal cuffs on her wrists – the only parts of her armor that she had been wearing when they had embarked upon their quest – dug into his skin and stole his breath for the third time.

"Sorry," she said awkwardly, her voice steeped in her annoyance as she rolled off him and got to her feet. Loki stayed where he was for a moment more, just breathing as he felt Sif hover over him, pressing a hand to the small of her back and stretching in order to make sure that everything was intact from their fall.

The Labyrinth – for he was almost certain that it was her – laughed in his mind, but it was not the Mother, but the Maiden who found humor at his expense, and he imagined the young girl covering her face with her hand, trying to hide her mirth even as her eyes revealed everything.

He made a face at the air around him, even as Sif reached down to give him a hand up, a mighty scowl on her face, just hardly visible in the darkness around them.

At the thought, he cupped his hands and blew into his palms. Green sparks leapt from his fingertips, before flaring into a small globe of flame. The green light threw Sif's face into odd highs and lows before him, all scowling at their surroundings as they were illuminated by the flame he cast. He flicked his fingers, and the globe jumped up to hover in the air by his head, lighting his way without him having to pay it conscious thought.

"Dwarf," Sif finally uttered the name like a curse once the weight of their situation settled in on them again. "We should have known."

"And yet, what choice did we have?" Loki shrugged, even though the excuse felt weak on his tongue. Who was he, Mischief and Trickery to be outdone by a _dwarf_, of all things? It was even worse than the incident with Thyrm, and if the story ever got out . . .

"I owe him a harm once we find out way out of this," Sif muttered darkly, her eyes throwing sparks enough to match his own as she set her hand on the hilt of her dagger, her fingers tapping restlessly.

Loki snorted, running his hands down over the front of his tunic, and snapping the leather so as to free it of the dirt of the cavern floor. His mouth turned in distaste at the cloud of dust that appeared before him at the motion. "Before, or after we rescue Thor?" he asked in curiosity, his voice light.

"Whichsoever that proves to be convenient. I am not so picky as you," Sif looked sharply ahead, her eyes shaped as if to march, and Loki felt a wicked grin pull at his mouth. He did not envy the dwarf his fate.

"For now," Sif said, casting her gaze around them, "Where are we?"

And that was the question.

Around them, his flame had illuminated a tunnel that stretched and twined for past his flame could reveal. The walls were rocky, as if they were far underground, and at their feet there were . . .

Corpses, he confirmed, toeing the upraised ribcage of some unfortunate, his face twisting in displeasure as the fragile skeleton turned to dust at his inspection, falling to mingle with the dust of the floor.

And Sif's mouth pressed into a thin, tight line. "Wonderful," she gave dryly.

_Not everyone asks to land as you did_, the Labyrinth said simply. _You figured that you rather quickly, and now you can continue on your way._

That voice again, Loki turned to look down the tunnel, as if by doing so he could catch the sound again. He could hear her speak down here as he could not up above, and a part of him was intrigued by the mystery, but the foreign magic of the land around him . . .

_Who are you? _Loki finally asked, looking to the maze outright for an answer when no more was forthcoming.

There was silence for a moment, as if the voice was debating how to answer him. So Loki turned his head to the side, and after a second of waiting he stepped forward and bowed with his thoughts. _I am Loki, of Asgard_, he finally said, introducing himself first where the maze would not. _Second son of Odin Allfather, of the second line of Bor Firstfather, right hand to the heir apparent of the First Realm, and I offer you my greetings._

There was a faint sense of amusement in his mind, as behind his eyes he saw a flash of white light and the smile from the first face of the fountain again. The Maiden turned her head, and said, _We know who you are. That is why you are here._

_And more than knowing who you are, we know who you can be_, the Mother said next, her voice softer and more contemplative then that of her first as she swam into the forefront of his consciousness, all golden light in his mind where the Maiden was white.

_It seems you have me at a disadvantage then_, Loki said, crossing his hands before his chest. _For I know not of you where you seem to know much of me._

_Such a bright thing as you, at a loss for understanding?_ The Mother's voice was shaped in amusement, a raised brow to her face that reminded Loki acutely of Frigg when she was willing him to understand a lesson she would not expressly say in words.

_You are the Labyrinth_, Loki stated plainly, summoning a confidence he was not completely sure of having of in front of such a power . . . a power that had a direct bearing on the path before him. _You are the Labyrinth and her three faces. The Mother, the Maiden, and _. . . the Crone, he thought, but did not say. The Labyrinth had not shown him her third face, and for a moment he waited, expecting her to shift and reveal herself before the Mother stepped forward before the Maiden, as if shielding them both.

Very curious, he thought, but did not say out loud.

_We are one of the shadow realms_, the Mother finally said, choosing her words carefully, and at her words, Loki's minds flooded with images, of great Yggdrasil's branches and the worlds between the realms on her might boughs.

_We act as a net_, the Maiden said next, explaining a complex thought as simply as she could while before Loki's mind, he saw the great maze in all of her entirety. Her highs and her lows and her great and fear inspiring things. _We catch magic from mortal children as they grow and forget that magic exists. And, as children forget magic, we are there for children when magic is taken for granted._

Curious, Loki raised a brow. _And the goblins?_

The Maiden huffed, and the Mother took over, sending a look at her other self. _Mortal children cannot exist in this realm, _she said simply._ A change is required, and so, a change they are given._

Which explained much, Loki thought – especially why such a populace, and such a power at that, would have to be ruled over by Fae blood as its king. The goblins did not have the mind, or the power, to reign over such a force, such a wild and unruly entity . . .

_Precisely_, the Mother echoed in his mind, pride steeped in her words. _You understand. And so you should be able to see as I see, how the magic forms paths as it is given to us, not a single one the same as each other, never to be retraced by two sets of feet again . . ._

As the Mother spoke, the tangible picture in his mind of the Labyrinth turned to something more than that – of a thousand upon a thousand paths represented by glowing strands as they wound, one about the other in order to form a whole, a marvelous and majestic whole of ins and outs, of riddles and rhymes and inexplicable things.

_When walked, the path matches the crime_, the Mother said simply. _Your invocation was honest, and your intentions are pure, and so your path will follow that to the center. And,_ he had the faintest implication of full lips smiling, soft and fond, _my king likes you. So, I could give you no other way to go._

Loki snorted, thinking of the dwarf and his treachery and the darkness around them, and thought, _This is him showing favor?_

_The utmost_, the Maiden smirked, and Loki rolled his eyes as he reached out to more closely examine the maze that the Mother had placed before him, the different paths swimming over each other like tongues of flame as they consumed their kindle. He looked, and searched until his thumb plucked against a discordant strand, like a falsely tuned string on a harp.

This path was different than the rest, he saw, looking closer at the thread. This path pulsed as if wounded, all shaded the dark violet of a bruise where the paths before had been warm tones of gold and orange, red and ocher and the earthen tone of recently turned soil. Where the other paths tangled together, all ease and harmony even with the chaos of their weave, this thread was angry and hurt, snagging at the others around it, drawing each from their intended way.

Curiously, he reached out, and touched the dark path in his mind's eyes, and snatched his hand back as if burned as in his mind the strand _roared_.

It roared, an unnatural sound that was neither beast nor man, and Loki had the barest flash of red eyes and heavy brows swinging together in outrage as a horned being turned his head to the top of his prison and screamed.

And Loki sucked in a breath to suddenly thin lungs, and found for a moment that he could not breathe.

_Some paths are darker than others_, the Maiden mourned, _for those darker than most._

_These are the paths which never should have been_, the Mother echoed, strangely solemn.

_What was that? _Loki finally asked as he tried to wrap his mind over what he saw, tripping over his words in his mind as he tried to convey his thought to the Labyrinth.

_Magic can be unkind, _the Maiden said softly in reply.

_And humanity even more so_, the Mother continued. _That being you saw is he who was created by the darkest of our paths, and one you should think of no more of if you wish to leave this place._

There was silence following that, and Loki felt a flicker of unease rise within him at the Mother's words. She did not say that their path would be opposite of this being, nor did she say that this would be their foe to face, but, there had been a reason that Thor's words had not invoked the claim of the Labyrinth, and there had been a reason that his words had been rightly spoken over all others . . .

But he placed that worry aside, needing to deal with the here and now, first and foremost.

_You can show me a way out, then? _Loki asked.

_Out of the Oubliette? _the Mother asked.

_Yes_, Loki answered. Oubliette, it made perfect sense – the forgotten, the put away and the passed aside.

At his thought, even though it had not been directed at them, the Maiden shook her head. _It means you are doing well, if the king had to put you here. Only a few runners make it this far._

Loki snorted. _I am honored_, he drawled in his mind.

_As you should be, _the Maiden chirped, eyes flashing impishly.

And the Mother raised a brow. Loki could feel her fondness and her exasperation both, and he was not sure if it was directed towards her younger self or her king, as hand and hand as they all were . . . It was a strange realm, he finally decided, a resting place for the unwanted and the forgotten, and a thriving ground for the more childish aspects of magic – the uncanny and the inexplicable and the wondrous all combined. It was a place he would have cared to study for longer than thirteen hours, under different circumstances.

_Perhaps_, the Mother said softly in his mind, the corner of her lips quirking upwards in the barest hind of a smile. _But for now . . ._

She closed her eyes, and before them a thread of golden light, quite like the one he had been following earlier, appeared in his mind's eye, calling him to follow.

_We shall see you at your path's end_. The Mother bowed her head to him, and the Maiden smiled softly before both retreated from his psyche, falling back to lurk as a quiet hum in his thoughts, ready to observe in silence.

And Loki came back to himself.

Beside him, Sif was very quiet, peering at his face as if searching. When he blinked, clearing his eyes of their cloud, she inhaled deeply, the barest of relieved smiles pulling on her face.

"You were gone not even a moment," Sif said without him having to ask, and he was grateful for her understanding, unsure as he was how to put such a thing into words. "The soul from earlier again?" she questioned.

"The Labyrinth herself," Loki nodded his head.

"And was she any help?" Sif questioned. "Or is she like the rest of her residents?" Her mouth turned in displeasure, as if she were imagining the dwarf and his snickering laugh as he pushed the stone over their way, all over again.

"She was of the utmost help," Loki finally said, shaking his head as if by doing so he could get his thoughts to fall into place.

Sif raised a brow, clearly dubious, and Loki grinned a sharp grin, "But, more than that, she has given us a path to follow." He tilted his head, his eyes following where the golden thread had appeared again, ready to lead them through. "And now I know just which way to go."


End file.
